


The Treasure Seekers

by Salchat



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Action/Adventure, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, BAMF John Sheppard, BAMF Rodney McKay, BAMF Teyla Emmagan, Concussed Ronon Dex, Gen, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Illustrations, SGA Cliche Bingo, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:33:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26928952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salchat/pseuds/Salchat
Summary: John and the team go ZPM-hunting on a jungle planet.   An adventure in two parts, to be concluded tomorrow!
Comments: 9
Kudos: 24





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> With many thanks to Eos1969 for providing me with a 'super distractifying' bingo card including art prompts. I chose to play SGA cliche bingo and had a lot of fun getting a full house! Full list of prompts in the end notes. See if you can spot them all!

“McKay!”

Rodney jumped and crumbs flew from his mouth. “What?”

“That’s my biscuit you’ve got there!” 

The Mess Hall came back into focus. “Oh.” Rodney looked at the crescent shaped item in his hand while his mouth automatically chewed the missing section. “Are you sure?”

John’s eyebrows climbed his forehead. “Pretty sure, Rodney. The evidence is all there.” He pointed at his empty plate and then at Rodney’s hand.

“Oh, well, sorry, I suppose. Although if you want your city adequately powered you’ll just have to make some sacrifices on the altar of my calorie-deprived brain.”

“Huh?”

“Power distribution. Or, in other words, robbing Peter to pay Paul.” He washed down his mouthful with a gulp of coffee and pushed another substantial bite of freshly baked starchiness into his mouth.

“Prioritise city defenses.”

“Well, obviously. But there are other things that are pretty essential. Fresh water, for one, lighting, heating, er… maybe we might want to use the Gate occasionally?”

“That bad?”

“Sheppard, we need a ZPM!”

“I know that, Rodney. I’m sending out teams but they’re all coming back empty-handed. Anyways,” he stood and picked up his tray. “Time to get going. C’mon, McKay, those minions aren’t gonna yell at themselves.”

“Huh, no.” Rodney chewed and slurped his remaining essential sustenance and picked up his tray. “The Gate techs are first on the list for yelling at today.”

“Why? Those guys do a good job.”

“Hmm. I think they can cut down the length of time we keep the Gate open and hustle things along when the shield is up. I’m looking for at least twenty percent improvement on power consumption each time the Gate is active!”

“Oh. Well, I’m gonna hang around Elizabeth’s office until she gets pissed at me.”

“What an excellent use of your time, Colonel.”

“I thought so.”

The transporter whisked them up to the Gate level and its doors opened onto the blare of the alarm and Chuck's familiar voice: “Unscheduled Off-world Activation!”

Rodney pattered up the stairs behind John’s energetic, two-at-a time bounds.

“It’s Stackhouse’s IDC.”

“Lower the shield.” Elizabeth stood calmly at the railing overlooking the Gate.

“Quickly!” added Rodney.

The shield lowered, three members of the team came through the rippling event horizon, followed by Stackhouse himself. He gave a casual salute to the control deck and the Gate shut off. 

“Too slow,” Rodney muttered.

Stackhouse bounded up the stairs, with more energy-wasting military enthusiasm.

“Found something for you, Dr McKay!”

“Oh. Specify the nature of the something?” Rodney’s nose twitched with anticipation.

“We found some cool ruins. Martins detected energy readings. Strong ones.”

“Succinctly put.” He spun on his heel, his mood suddenly bright. “Elizabeth?”

“Let’s debrief the team, then we’ll see,” she said, with one of those ‘don’t count your chickens’ expressions.

“But what will we see?” Rodney rubbed his hands together, skipping down the steps and bouncing across the mezzanine toward the meeting room, excitement alight in every movement.

oOo

“When he said jungle, Stackhouse wasn’t kidding, was he?” Rodney pulled out a handkerchief and wiped the sweat from his face. Moisture immediately gathered again and he gave up.

“Pretty cool,” remarked Ronon.

“In what way could this hell-hole be described as cool, Ronon?”

“Lots of cover. Be able to find food. Cut down one of those vines, you can drink from that.”

“Jungle Survival one-oh-one,” sneered Rodney.

“This area has been kept free of growth,” said Teyla.

“Locals?” John, standing on the stone Gate platform, eyed the treeline, the muzzle of his P90 following his gaze.

“Stackhouse’s team didn’t see any,” said Rodney. “Can we go? I’m dissolving into a puddle of ZPM-deprivation, here!”

“The path is clear too,” said Teyla.

“Okay, Teyla, you take point. Ronon on six.”

“I hope it’s not far. I just know my pants are going to chafe.” Rodney’s clothes felt damp already and the moisture in the air and his own sweat combined to prove him correct within five minutes of setting out. He was about to make his displeasure fully known to his team, when his eye fell on bright colour amongst the dark green walls of close-packed trees that towered either side of the narrow path. Round purple fruits hung in heavy profusion, dangling easily within his reach.

“Teyla! What are they? Are they edible? They’re not citrus, are they?” His voice rang as if he were in a great hall.

She glanced over her shoulder. “They are mapla fruit, Rodney. Like Earth plums and very good to eat.”

A large round fruit wobbled tantalizingly. Rodney plucked it and bit into the juicy flesh. It tasted of blackcurrant and fig and grapes. Delicious.

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/190544196@N08/50443222733/in/dateposted-public/)

“They are also used for dying cloth because their juice stains indelibly.”

“What?” Juice ran down Rodney’s chin and coated his hand. Rich, purple juice. “Indelible as in doesn’t come off?”

“Hey, let me see, McKay.”

John’s hand on his shoulder halted him. “Whoa! That’s an interesting look you’ve got going there!”

Rodney tried to squint down at his own face. “Am I stained? What? Teyla?”

Teyla had stopped on the trail ahead. She bit her lip. “It will come off. Eventually.”

“Eventually? How long is eventually?”

“Nice one, McKay.” Ronon’s appreciative grin loomed over his shoulder.

“C’mon, folks, back to it!” John waved at the trail ahead.

“Oh, that’s just great.” Rodney looked at the culprit in his purple hand. “Might as well finish it.”

oOo

The ruins reminded John of a long-abandoned cemetery. Draped in a covering of vines and moss, hazy with fine rain and mist, they emerged slowly as the path wound its way down the steep side of a valley. Some of the stonework was reduced by time to walls low enough to step over, but further out into the valley floor there were areas that rose two or three storeys high; walls partly fallen standing solitary and roofless, thin towers pointing shattered fingers toward the sky, a grey and green shadowy testament to some ancient culture. Or, with any luck an Ancient culture that had left a few of its relics for their distant descendents to find and make use of.

  
[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/190544196@N08/50443222788/in/dateposted-public/)

John didn’t like the place. It was all very picturesque, but the lines of sight would be compromised in all directions once they were in amongst the ruins, and that seemed to be where Rodney was leading them. “Do we have to go in there?”

Rodney wiped the screen of his datapad, frowning at the gathering condensation. “Stackhouse’s team went that way, and the energy readings spike in that direction.” He pointed to the centre of the fallen city or temple complex or whatever it had been.

“Okay. Stay alert.”

He liked it even less as they made their way into the ruins and the walls rose around him. The footing was treacherous too, stone floors having fallen into covered cellars, leaving gaping dark holes ready to trap unwary scientists.

“Watch where you’re going, McKay!”

“ _I’m_ watching the energy readings. _You’re_ supposed to be watching where I’m going!”

John huffed angrily, knowing his jangled nerves were making him sharper than usual. 

Ronon leapt to the top of a wall, sending chunks of masonry clattering to the ground. “Careful, Ronon. That looks like it’s about to give way!”

“I need to see!”

“Okay, what can you see?”

“Nothing.” He jumped down. “I don’t like it.”

“Neither do I, Chewie.” John looked back between the algae-covered walls. The place was still and silent apart from bird-calls echoing from the surrounding jungle. “C’mon, let’s get going.”

They came to a road, its huge paving slabs displaced by thick, contorted roots and vines into an ankle-twisting maze.

“This way!” Rodney led them along the ancient road until they came to a more open space that could once have been a market or central meeting square. “It’s like a Roman forum. Look. In here!”

A building with an arched, vaulted ceiling was still partially standing, the creepers covering its stonework and half-fallen curved entrance giving it the appearance of a cave.

“Teyla. Keep watch.” Teyla nodded acknowledgement and John followed Ronon and Rodney into the gloomy interior.

“Someone’s been living here.” Ronon’s words brought a prickling to John’s shoulders. The ex-runner was squatting in the centre of the room, below a hole in the ceiling which shone grey-white light down upon a heap of blackened rocks. “Fireplace.”

“Recent?”

Ronon lifted out some of the stones and poked at the ashes. He shook his head. “Coupla months at least.”

There was a muttered curse from the back of the room where Rodney faced the damp, green and black stained stonework. He swept his hand back and forth over the surface and swore again.

John crunched over the gritty, uneven surface. “Problem?”

“It’s coming from behind this wall, but there’s no way in. I can’t see a door. Can you?”

“No. But that doesn’t mean there isn’t one. Although, there’s always C4.”

“Great. If in doubt, blow it up. Let’s just have a proper look before we resort to soldier-boy tactics, shall we?”

“Sure. Chewie, come and help.” John clicked his radio. “Teyla, report.”

“All is quiet, John.”

“Stay alert. Check in every fifteen.” John scanned the back wall. It was about thirty feet long, with columns every six feet or so, age-worn into soft uneven shapes, flaring at the top to merge with the arched ceiling. “So, we know Ancients were a tricky bunch, which means we need to get up close and personal with this wall; check out every stone, every carving, see if there’s anything that moves or doesn't look right. McKay, you start that end.” He pointed to the right. “I’ll start the other, and Ronon, you check over the middle.”

John took out his flashlight and began scrutinising his length of wall, running the white light over the stained surface, pushing at each of the stone blocks, looking at it from different angles to see if anything protruded or was sunk into the surface. There was a gap in the stonework and when he trained his light on it, something moved. John chewed his lip. Maybe if he reached in there’d be a lever to open a hidden panel. Or maybe the thing that had made its home inside the crevice would bite, sting, or otherwise chew his hand off. He looked round for a stick or something he could poke into the hole.

“This is different.” 

Ronon’s rumbled comment was followed by the skittering of Rodney’s boots and his impatient. “Out of the way, Ronon!”

“Don’t push me, McKay!” Ronon growled.

“Settle down kids! What have you found?”

“I pulled off this creeper.” There was a pile of wizened vegetation on the floor. “This bit’s not the same as the others.”

“The caveman’s right. Look.”

Halfway down the pillar was a bulge of distorted carving. John peered at it. “What is that? A bunch of fruit?”

“I was thinking eggs.”

“Looks like a face to me,” said Ronon. “See, there’s the eyes.” He prodded the stone bumps. “And this is the nose.” He grasped a jutting triangle. It came away in his hand.

“Oh, well, that’s just brilliant. If that’s an Ancient counterweight mechanism he’s just broken it!”

“Cool it, Rodney.” John shone his light on the broken area. Something glimmered. He bent his knees and squinted. “It looks hollow.”

“Let me see!” 

John felt himself shoved aside. Rodney began pulling at the stonework and chunks fell off in his hands. Then all of them broke pieces off and used them to knock away the rest. It was enjoyably destructive.

“Well, that’s more like it!” Rodney beamed at the panel beneath; its shiny terracotta surface was studded with white, glass-like circles that, very faintly, glowed from within.

“Looks Ancient,” said John.

“Yes, it does. I wonder if it’s a combination lock. Do you have to press the buttons in the right order? Hmm. This needs careful consideration.”

“Hey, maybe…” John brushed his hand over the tempting surface.

“Have you never heard of ‘fools rush in…’? Oh.”

A section of the wall began to rise into the ceiling revealing darkness beyond.

oOo

“Well, maybe we were lucky this time. Or maybe as soon as we step inside, the whole ceiling’ll come crashing down because we didn’t enter the correct combination.”

“Or maybe it won’t and we’ll be fine.”

Ronon wasn’t waiting around for those two to finish bickering. He unholstered his weapon and let its red beam guide him into the dark space.

“Wait up, Chewie!” John followed behind him and suddenly yellow-white wall sconces shivered to life, striking glints of golden light off the surrounding richness.

“Nice,” commented Ronon, reholstering his gun. Heaped piles of what could only be described as treasure filled the room; or hall, really - the place was massive. Ronon leant down and scooped up a pile of metal coins. The embossed figurehead could have been man, woman or wraith, but the coin was heavy; maybe it was valuable, or maybe not. A slight metallic shifting behind him grew to a ringing, bouncing clatter which echoed off the walls and then gradually faded.

“Whoops,” said John. He held a gold goblet, studded with green and red stones and, at his feet was a cascade of similar tableware.

“Try not to trash the place before we’ve been in here five minutes, Sheppard.” Rodney ignored the tempting treasure and swept his sensors left and right, up and down. “I can’t tell where it’s coming from, there’s so much… stuff in here!”

“Treasure, McKay, the word’s treasure. This is cool!”

“Yes, well much good may it do us when the Wraith attack Atlantis and kill us all and then do the same to every man, woman and child on Earth.”

“Way to dampen the mood, Rodney.”

The scientist spun around and thrust his chin at his team leader. “ZPMs, Colonel! Do I need to remind you of our mission objective?”

“No, you don’t,” John answered with determined good-humour. “I just think we can afford a minute to appreciate the general coolness of this place. Treasure, Rodney! Did you never watch Sinbad movies when you were a kid? Or Aladdin?”

“Well let’s hope we find a lamp, then, shall we? We’ll give it a rub and use all three of our wishes on ZPMs! Problem solved!”

“What’s that about?” 

“It’s an old story,” said John, weaving his way through the heaps of treasures. “There’s a genie - that’s a magic dude - in a lamp. You rub the lamp, the genie comes out and gives you three wishes.”

“Oh. Right.”

“Searching for useful things here, not telling stories!” Rodney’s voice came from deeper inside the chamber.

“There’s a Satedan story where you rub a magic egg and this chicken thing gives you wishes.”

“A magic chicken?”

“It’s called a blenek, but it’s like a chicken kinda thing.”

“Fascinating!” Rodney’s voice was further away, but resonant with sarcasm.

John smirked. “Better catch him up.”

They tracked the sound of thwarted scientist through the heaps of jewelry, piles of rotting wooden chests and strangely-shaped furniture.

“Oh! Ew! That’s… that’s not nice!”

“What is it, McKay?” John swiftly tracked Rodney through the maze and they found him leaning against a great iron-bound chest, looking sick. He waved a hand behind him. Beyond the chest was a towering stack of black and white spiralling tusks and behind that, on the floor, curled in upon itself, preserved in its death throes, was a body. A wizened, dried, husk of a body, mummified by desiccation, but a human body nonetheless.

“Wraith,” said Ronon.

John crouched down and examined the remains. “I think you’re right. Which means… what?”

Ronon shrugged. “Wraith aren’t interested in treasure.”

“I guess not. But it means they’ve been here. They know about this place.”

“I don’t like it.”

“Neither do I. But still…” He stood up. “Are you getting readings, Rodney?”

There was a pause. And a muffled, “Yes.”

John twitched a piece of rotting fabric off a nearby pile and covered the body. They returned to Rodney, who was pushing the remains of a power bar into his mouth and chewing determinedly while checking his datapad.

“There’s something giving off a powerful reading in here, but I can’t pinpoint it. All this metal is diffusing the signal.”

“So…” John prompted.

“So, we’ll just have to search through it all. And I’m sure your super-twitchy gene will help. See if you can sniff something out.” Rodney waved a dismissive hand.

John rolled his eyes. “Ronon, help McKay excavate.” Ronon nodded. John acknowledged Teyla’s check-in (nothing to report) and wandered amongst the haphazard piles, picking up this, touching that, listening for that tiny fizz in his mind that might lead him to the good stuff. There was a stack of tightly-rolled scrolls, but they began to disintegrate from the slightest brush of his fingers. There was a sword, decorated with faint swirling tracery; an Ancient sword that lit up would be cool. He picked it up and struck an en garde position, but nothing happened, just the weight of the metal dragging his arm down. 

The tip of the heavy sword sagged and John’s eyes followed its point toward a low heap of rocks, stacked on the ground. He set down the sword and crouched. They weren’t just any rocks, they were geodes, split to reveal their crystalline centres. John lifted one up, its miniature cave-world sparking with light, drawing his eye to its inky blue depths. He put it back on the pile and reached for another. But then his hand, as if of its own will, swerved away and he found himself pushing the geodes aside to reveal a small, fat, lozenge-shaped box. He picked it up. It was heavy for its size, grey with an iridescent sheen and he turned it over to see a tiny screen and keypad.

“Hello, there,” said John. The artefact lit with a welcoming glow. He smiled back. “So, what do you do?” He experimentally pressed a key and Ancient symbols began to scroll across the screen. John caught a few isolated syllables, but didn’t have a hope of translating at that speed. “Let’s get you to McKay,” he said to the object.

oOo

Teyla shuffled her rocky seat away from Rodney. A stray downdraft blew smoke from their campfire in her face then relented, to allow the smoke to escape through the hole in the ceiling. Any moment now, he would ask. And she would refuse. He had made his choice and she had made hers.

“Teyla, can I just -”

“No.”

“Not even -”

“No.”

“Oh.” There was a pause. “Maybe just -”

Teyla turned and let Rodney have the full force of her suppressing glare. “Rodney, you chose the Cajun rice and sausage and you were happy with your choice.”

“Yes, but… New MRE menus, Teyla! I’ve never had the cheese and vegetable omelet. Just a taste?”

“I know what your tastes are like, Rodney. There would be none left for me.”

“Humph.”

“Hey, how about I swap you my chocolate cake for your pound cake?” John offered.

Rodney’s eyes lit up. “Really?”

“Sure, why not?”

The exchange was made. Teyla kept her MRE bag tucked tightly between her knees, knowing that her chocolate chip cookie would not be safe for long if insufficiently guarded.

“What d’you think that thing is, McKay?”

Rodney shook his head, his mouth full of rice and sausage. He swallowed. “I don’t know yet. I thought it was a long-distance communication device, or even a mini DHD.”

“Cool.”

“It’s not either of those, though.” He folded up his empty packaging and stuffed it into his pack, then picked up the chocolate cake and tore the wrapper off. “I’ll work it out. I just hope it’s not something useless, like a singing paperweight or something.”

“Have you ever come across an Ancient singing paperweight?”

“Not yet. But Sam Carter gets crap like that all the time. Goa’uld stuff. Pretty sure she came across a singing paperweight once.”

“I am glad the Goa’uld never travelled to my galaxy,” said Teyla.

“I bet. The whole place’d be a lot more bling if they had,” agreed Rodney.

“Bling?”

“Gold. Showy.”

“Speaking of gold,” said John. “What’s the plan for tomorrow?”

Rodney sighed. “More of the same. I think this one’s going to come down to muscle power. There has to be something under that lot.”

“Do we need reinforcements?”

“A bulldozer’d help. I don’t know. We’ll see.”

“Okay.” John stood up and stretched. “I’ll relieve Ronon.” He made his way to the creeper-hung entrance. “Rodney.”

“Yes?”

“No going back in there tonight, you get me? I don’t want you digging around on your own.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Colonel.”

John exchanged a glance with Teyla. She nodded slightly and decided to position her sleeping bag to deny the inquisitive scientist access to the treasure chamber.

“You figured that thing out?" Ronon flung himself down, tore open an MRE packet and began shovelling the cold contents into his mouth.

"No," said Rodney, testily. "It connects to the Gate system, but other than that I don't know yet. Teyla, your turn to nag!"

Teyla ignored him, took out her cookie and began to nibble it while Rodney balanced the device on his knees and flicked at its display, his other hand occupied with his cake.

"Could be a timekeeper,” suggested Ronon.

"What?"

"So you c'n keep track of time, going between worlds."

"It's not."

"Could be a remote Gate opener."

"No. It's not a DHD, I said that."

"Not to me."

"Shut up and let me think or we'll never know what it is!"

Ronon ate his cake in one huge bite, chewed and swallowed.

"Could be a -"

"Yes, thank you for the benefit of your long years of scientific training, but I think I'll manage!"

"Thing to block a dial-in," Ronon mumbled.

"Zip it, Conon!"

"Rodney." Teyla glared.

Rodney subsided into quiet fuming, while Ronon looked at Teyla, grinned and shrugged.

oOo

“Are we getting any warmer, McKay?”

“I told you, the signal’s being diffused by all the minerals and metals and whatever else is in this heap of junk. It’s down to muscle power.”

“Yeah, I notice you’re not deploying your own muscle power.” John stood up straight and arched his aching back, then squinted at the pad of one thumb where it felt like something was embedded.

“I have to monitor the readings constantly or we might miss finding whatever there is to find!” Rodney sat on a marble surface that looked like some kind of altar. Sacrificing himself he was not.

“I can’t move this.” Ronon’s voice came from behind a slew of broken chests, their contents a mixture of coins and strangely-shaped tokens.

John picked his way through the debris. Ronon was pushing at a smooth black curve which ended flush with the floor and disappeared under a hill of treasure. “Move over, let me have a look.” John crouched down next to Ronon. He brushed away at the surface of the object. It was smooth with a slightly oily feel. He pushed on it, hard, but it didn’t budge. “Okay, let’s see if we can uncover it. McKay, get over here and check this for energy readings.”

He began to help Ronon move away some sheets of marble facing, straining under the weight, his sweaty fingers slipping on the smooth surface.

“That’s it! I think. The reading’s coming from whatever this thing is.”

“Doesn’t look like a ZPM,” said Ronon.

“Well, we can’t tell what it is can we? It could be a carrier for multiple ZPMs or a ZPM making machine. We won’t know until you get it uncovered. Come on, get to it!”

“McKay! A little help would be nice.”

Rodney, grumbling, set down his datapad and half-heartedly shifted a few objects off the pile. The marble facings set aside, John and Ronon lifted away chests, boxes of scrolls, sheets of precious metals, woods and rotting bags of gemstones. More of the object was revealed, curving upward to form a kind of pedestal. John stopped, wiped his brow and took a drink from his canteen. This thing’d better be good. Maybe they should stop for lunch soon. There was an MRE with nachos that sounded good.

“Sheppard!” Ronon’s voice jerked John’s attention back to the object. “Look!”

“What? What’ve you found?” Rodney scrambled round to Ronon’s position. “Oh. That’s not good. I’d go so far as to say, that’s pretty bad.”

“What is it?”

“Short answer: Wraith.” Rodney stepped aside.

Ronon had revealed the top of the pedestal, which, rather than a flat surface containing the neat circles of ZPM ports, had the uneven, sinisterly organic style of a Wraith console. The surface was pitted and scratched, but in one corner a small blue light winked on and off.

“Wraith,” repeated John. “But what’s it doing? Is it transmitting?”

“As far as I can tell, there’s a fair bit of power stored up in it, but,” Rodney tapped at his display. “I think it’s only sending out a weak signal.”

“Have we made it clearer by uncovering it?”

“I don’t know. I’m hoping that the signal’s being diffused in the same way the as energy readings.”

“So, should we expect company?” John flicked his radio. “Teyla?” There was no response. “Dammit, is this stuff interfering with radio signals?”

“Maybe.”

“I’m gonna check with Teyla. And I think we should get out even if she’s not picking up any Wraithy vibes.” John hurried through the piles of treasure, his heart beating an urgent warning.

oOo

Teyla was uneasy. She had walked the perimeter of the square several times and had seen and heard nothing but the occasional drip of water and distant bird and animal calls. The ruined buildings loomed above her. She debated climbing a tower to get a better view, but even then she would not be able to see into the canyons of long-abandoned paths that criss-crossed the Ancient settlement.

John emerged from the shadows and she tensed in response to his grim expression.

“Teyla. There’s a live Wraith device in there. D’you feel anything?”

Was this the true source of her unease? She closed her eyes and searched with her mind. Then shook her head. “I sense nothing.”

Some of the tension left John’s shoulders, but his eyes flicked around the limited field of view. “We’re gonna get out just in case. I’ll keep watch. You go and grab the guys - make sure they're packing up.”

“Yes, John.”

Ronon and Rodney had not emerged from the inner chamber. Teyla swiftly gathered the few scattered items and set the packs ready, calling out to hurry her teammates along. Suddenly there was a familiar whine and then a thunderous roar: Ronon’s blaster.

oOo

“What? Why? What the hell did you do that for?” Rodney flapped his hands to disperse the smoke in front of his stinging eyes.

“You didn’t know if it was calling the Wraith,” said Ronon. “Now you know it’s not.”

“Ronon? Rodney? Are you well?” Teyla called from the entrance.

“One of us won’t be in a minute!” yelled Rodney. The smoke drifted away, shimmering with an eerie blue light. He put out his hand. “Ouch! Dammit!” His fingers stung and then went numb. “You idiot! You see that?” He waved his hand a careful distance from the sheet of shimmering blue which now surrounded the undamaged pedestal. “It’s a forcefield! Which you’ve tripped, or fed with energy from your stupid weapon, or whatever! I don’t care how it works, the fact is, you’ve woken it up! Look at it! D’you think you’ve killed it? Yes?” The previously small winking light had grown to a confidently pulsating glow which spread over the whole surface.

“Guess not.”

“‘Guess not,’ he says, having almost certainly ensured that we’ll be comfortably ensconced in a nice cosy culling bay within the hour! Move! Now!” Rodney shoved his teammate toward the entrance and ran after him, stumbling over the scattered debris.

An echoing rattle sounded in the distance.

Rodney stopped. “What was that?”

“Weapons’ fire.” Ronon ran faster. “Teyla, what’s going on?”

“I do not know! John is outside!”

oOo

The humid breeze had dropped and the ruins were silent. John shifted uneasily, grit crunching under his boots. He felt hemmed-in, trapped by the gloomy grey and green maze of decaying stone. He flexed his fingers and resettled his hands on his weapon, turning a slow circle to scan the dark holes and pathways that might hold almost any kind of danger. Suddenly, he needed to be high, to see what was happening around him. He chose a building that looked reasonably safe, stepped over some fallen masonry in its doorway and found a just about usable flight of stairs. Some stairs were missing and chunks of plaster and brickwork fell as he climbed, but he eventually emerged into the light and tentatively stepped out onto the flat roof. It held without a tremor. He rotated slowly in place and looked out over the ruins, and further into the great, silent presence of the jungle. Silent, he thought. Too silent. Where were the bird-calls? The cries of the creatures that may or may not be man-eating monkey-type things?

John’s breath rasped in his throat, his pulse beat in his ears. Then a sudden blast of sound came from below and a flock of yellow birds burst from the canopy and hurtled in flapping panic away between the high emergent sentinel trees.

He tapped his radio. “Ronon!” No response. “McKay! Teyla!” John turned back toward the stairwell. On the threshold he was halted by a single cry; a high, repeated note like the yipping of a desert fox, it hung in the misty air. Then came again, but from somewhere in the ruins. Then again, bouncing and echoing around the narrow canyons and tumbled walls of the Ancient complex. These were no animal cries; they were signals. Should he warn his team? Risk giving away his position? John fired a quick burst of three shots into the air and then ran down the stairs, jumping over gaps and skidding on loose rubble. He reached the ground and flattened himself against the wall, to one side of the entrance. He listened. The signal cries had ceased.

He edged along the wall and looked out into the square. Had his team heard his warning shots? He reached for his radio, intending to flick the transmit button in a discrete warning. There was movement on the roof opposite; a crawling shadow. And another, at ground level, creeping along the wall. He raised his P90.

“Drop it.” 

John froze.

oOo

“I don’t care if it’s Wraith or whoever made that fireplace, they’re not having the treasure!” Rodney slapped at the control panel as Teyla and Ronon cautiously peered out through the overhanging creeper. The section of wall slid back into place and Rodney scuffed at the dirt below to erase their tracks, then picked up the ripped away section of creeper and jammed it into cracks in the stonework, hiding the Ancient controls.

“I see no movement,” murmured Teyla.

Ronon was silent. 

Rodney shoved his datapad into his pack and shouldered it, then dragged John’s toward the entrance. “What’s happening? Where’s Sheppard? Is it Wraith?”

“Keep it down, McKay, we’re trying to listen.” Ronon pushed the trailing creeper aside with the muzzle of his weapon.

“I sense no Wraith.”

“Do we make a run for it? We should go!”

“McKay, shut -”

There was a scraping from above Rodney’s head. He spun round as something fell to the ground with a sharp crack and then the room filled with bitter, burning smoke. This was no Wraith attack; somebody was trying to force them into the open. Rodney’s eyes streamed and his lungs burned. He heard Teyla and Ronon coughing and hacking alongside him. If he could get to the inner wall, he could raise the entrance to the treasure chamber. They could hide or maybe the smoke would disperse enough or maybe they could blast a hole and escape out the back. He stumbled and fell, then staggered to his feet, his lungs rasping, his throat constricting. He stumbled again, fell to his knees and he couldn’t breathe and there was a roaring in his ears and loud voices. He collapsed and felt the gritty floor beneath his cheek. Then he was being dragged and there was bright light all around and he coughed and coughed and finally took in some sweet fresh air. 

Around him there was movement and harsh voices. His hair was grasped and his head pulled up, then let fall. Rodney lay, limp and sick. He felt his tac vest being pulled off and his arms were wrenched back to tie his hands behind him. His ankles were bound, and by the time his senses had settled and he was feeling like he could have moved, he was trussed up tight, at the mercy of their attackers.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team have found a roomful of treasure, set off a Wraith beacon and been ambushed by... who? How will they escape from enemies new and old?

“Drop it. Now.” 

Stealthy footsteps sounded behind him, coming down the stairs. John turned, slowly. One figure was silhouetted in the window above him, legs astride the embrasure and another stood on the stairs, his weapon firmly trained on John. From across the square came sharp cries, coughing and a bitter taste of acrid smoke.

“We have your friends. Drop your weapon.”

John flicked the safety on, unclipped his P90 and let it fall.

“And the other.”

His sidearm went the same way as the P90.

“Move.” The muzzle of the man’s weapon jerked toward the door.

Outside, men were entering the square from all directions. Rodney, Ronon and Teyla lay on the ground, their bodies convulsing with violent, choking coughs. He watched as they were stripped of their kit and their hands and feet were tied. Ronon fought but was held down and bound nevertheless. 

John’s jaw hardened. He tried to quell the stream of ‘should haves and shouldn’t haves’ that ran through his head; should have brought a jumper, should have brought more than one team, shouldn’t have left his team all shut in that one place, shouldn’t have come at all because this kind of crap always happened. His hands were dragged behind him and bound, then his ankles, then someone shoved him hard so that he fell to his knees. His hair was pulled back, forcing him to look up into the face of his captor, the muzzle of the man’s weapon now aimed at the centre of John’s forehead.

“Who are you? What are you doing here?”

John studied his opponent: dark hair, scruffy beard, dull skin that looked like the guy didn’t have the best diet, black eyes that glared into his. Impatient eyes, that flashed with anger at John’s silence. His arm swung and there was a dull impact as the weapon crashed into John’s jaw and bright pain erupted. He bent forward and was hauled upright again.

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/190544196@N08/50444096017/in/dateposted-public/)

“Who are you? Tell me, or I will kill one of your friends!”

“The name’s Bond. James Bond.” John smirked irritatingly. 

The black eyes narrowed and a fist clenched and struck. John reeled sideways and was jerked back to his knees. Blood dripped down his chin from a split lip. He estimated the size of the outlaw gang at about thirty-five. Some of them watched the interrogation appreciatively, others carried boxes and sacks into the building where he and his team had spent the previous night. Supplies or stolen goods? Not that it mattered.

“I think that is not your real name. But I know what you are! You are bounty hunters, yes? Fools who wander into Garcha’s hideout and think they can earn themselves a reward. Ha!” He emphasized his laugh by prodding John sharply in the chest with his weapon.

“Garcha?”

“Don’t pretend you don’t know my name, hunter. How did you find me? Who told you about this world?”

“No-one told me. I guess we’re just lucky.” A punch in the gut was the reward for this and John doubled forward, gasping for breath.

“Someone has betrayed me and you will tell me who. Now!” Garcha strode across the square, lifted Teyla by her hair and pressed the muzzle of his gun into her neck. “Who gave you the Gate address? Speak, or I will kill her!”

Teyla closed her eyes.

“Nobody told us! We’re not bounty hunters! We found this place by accident!”

Garcha shrugged, unconcerned and turned back to Teyla.

“Wait.” An outlaw who had been sorting through the packs rose to his feet. “Wait, Garcha.” The tall, stooping figure came close and muttered in his leader’s ear. Garcha’s expression became calculating. He released Teyla, who sagged to the ground.

“Interesting.” Garcha holstered his weapon. “Very interesting.” He approached John once more, his arms folded. “Azya here thinks he knows where you are from. Atlantis. Is he right?”

John glared. “Wrong. We’re Genii.”

“No. I think not. I think Azya knows what he is talking about. And now we just have to decide what to do with you.” He tapped his chin in a parody of deep thought. “We could just kill you.” Some of the watching men nodded grimly. “Or ransom you?”

“We’re not worth anything.”

“Oh? How unfortunate. I think perhaps your enemies might pay for you, and Atlantis has made many enemies…”

The crowd of outlaws began to shout suggestions, none of which sounded pleasant. 

“Make ‘em fight to the death!”

“”Hang ‘em.”

“Skin them alive!”

John winced.

“No.” Garcha flicked a hand at a group of his men. “Throw them in the pit. We’ll take a vote like civilised men.”

This raised a general laugh.

John struggled in his captor’s hands, but was dragged into one of the buildings which surrounded the square, through a narrow hallway and into a room where the floor had fallen through into a cellar. He twisted and jack-knifed, but was simply picked up and dropped into the gaping black hole.

oOo

“Oof! Ow! Get off, you great - Ow!”

“McKay?”

“Get your foot out of my -”

“McKay? Are you alright?”

“No!” Rodney wormed his way out from beneath a heavy, bony, totally motionless weight, bent his legs and struggled up to sitting. “I’m cut and bruised and squashed!”

“Ronon?” There was no answer.

“He’s unconscious,” said Rodney.

“Yeah, I’d figured that.” John’s shadowy form bent forward and nudged at Ronon with his head. “Wish I could get my hands free. We need to turn him over.”

“I wish I had my hands _and_ feet free and better yet, all of me free so that I could go home!”

“McKay. Quit whining and give me a hand. Or, you know, a head.”

“I can’t lift Ronon even when my hands are free, how am I meant to lift him with my head? Telekinesis?”

“Just come round this side. It’s sloped. If we give him a good shove he’ll roll over.”

“And cause more injuries, no doubt!”

“I’m not leaving him face down, Rodney.”

“Oh, alright.”

Rodney shuffled round, wincing as his already abraded knees scraped against the rubble-strewn cellar floor. He bent forward and pressed his forehead into Ronon’s hip.

“On three,” said John. “One, two, three, push.”

Rodney felt like a performing animal, trying to push something around a ring. 

“Keep pushing, Rodney. He’s moving.”

Ronon’s slack form slithered and rolled over until he was lying half on his side.

“That’ll do,” said John.

“Is he okay?”

There was a pause. “I can feel his breath,” said John. Ronon groaned. “That’s a definite yes. Now, where’s Teyla?”

oOo

Teyla had been dragged back into the room where they had camped the night before and dumped next to the fireplace, hands and feet still tied. The smoke had dispersed and she watched men coming and going, stacking crates against the back wall, setting out bedrolls and tying back the creepers that hung over the entrance. Somebody lit the fire and Teyla quickly became too hot and squirmed away.

“That’s far enough, Missy,” warned the man who had lit the fire. “Don’t be moving any further.” He wheezed a creaking laugh. “You’ll get plenty of exercise later. Won’t she, lads?” The other men laughed.

Teyla's stomach turned, but she set her teeth and lay still. She would save her energy and an opportunity would come.

oOo

The meagre glimmers of light entering the pit had faded. John could hear Rodney shifting and muttering to himself, but couldn’t see his friends at all.

“Where’m I?”

“You’re in a pit with me and McKay, same as you were five minutes ago, Buddy.”

“Huh?”

“He’s not getting any more lucid, is he?”

“No.”

Ronon had drifted in and out of consciousness, groaning and asking the same questions over and over. John was worried. Even if an opportunity to escape came, how could they get Ronon out? His knees burned from where he’d checked all round the perimeter of the pit and his body ached from his beating. 

There was no way out, fallen masonry having blocked what should have been an entrance. The sides were vertical, but roughly hewn and, with hands free, he could have climbed up in seconds. So, if free hands was what he needed, that’s what he’d decided to focus on. John pushed up and down against the wall, bending and straightening his legs to rub his bonds against a sharp piece of rock. He knew he was cutting his hands and arms, but surely he must also be cutting the rope?

oOo

The outlaws had eaten. Teyla had been given nothing and although she didn’t feel hungry, she was very thirsty. She listened in to the general rumble of conversation, learning snatches of information about the outlaws' lives and the crimes they’d committed. Some of them, having finished their meal, began a game of dice, exchanging bets and roaring over the outcome. Garcha was involved in deep discussion with a close circle, presumably his trusted men. Then he stood up, slapped one of his companions on the back and strutted toward Teyla, followed by encouraging yells and whoops. He took out a knife, bent down and cut the ropes round her ankles.

“Get up.”

She had tried to keep her circulation going by wriggling her toes, but her legs trembled and collapsed beneath her. Garcha dragged her to her feet. He gripped her arm painfully and held her still for a moment. Then he let go and Teyla managed to stay upright.

“Now, you walk.” He pushed her to the entrance. “I don’t want an audience for this!” He leered at his men and more suggestive calls followed them out into the night. Garcha laughed and pushed Teyla across the square. It was fully dark and raining. The cries of the night animals rang out from the forest.

“Why’d they bring a pretty little thing like you to a place like this? Seems like asking for trouble.”

Moisture ran down Teyla’s hair and crept beneath the collar of her jacket.

“They do not like to prepare their own meals,” she replied.

Garcha took her arm and steered her round a corner, out of sight of his men. “You’re the cook? Maybe after we’ve… got better acquainted, you could take over that job for us.”

“Perhaps I could.”

He led her in through a narrow doorway and let go of her arm. Teyla heard him groping around and then a light flared and she saw a dirty heap of bedding in a squalid little room and her captor, holding a lantern. His eyes travelled up and down her body. Teyla hid her revulsion.

Garcha hung the lantern from a hook on the wall. It cast his face into deep shadow, all but a hungry glint in his eye and a sheen on moist lips. 

Teyla ordered her lips to describe a curve. "I cannot please you with my hands tied."

Garcha took a step toward her, his fetid breath gusting in her face. "You could please me well enough."

Calculatingly, she pouted her lower lip, cast her eyes down and then looked up, blinking, sure that the lantern would strike points of light on her irises. "My hands are very skilled," she whispered.

Garcha swallowed and shivered with lust. "I bet they are," he said.

He took his knife and cut Teyla's bonds. She smiled at him and rubbed her wrists and rolled her shoulders.

Then, still smiling, she pinched a point on his shoulder and, as he dropped, thrust the heel of her hand up into his face. She let him fall, his eyes wide and frozen, splinters of bone driven into his brain. "Very skilled indeed," she assured the dead man.

oOo

“Is it nearly through?”

“I don’t know.”

“Because you’ve been scraping away for ages. It must be nearly through.”

“You could try too, you know.”

“There's no point in both of us going to all that effort when you could just untie me.”

John winced as his elbow scraped against the wall again. “Look, McKay, at the moment it feels like bits of the wall are flaking off and I’m losing quite a lot of skin. The rope’s the only thing that’s not - Oh.” The sudden release shot agony through his shoulders.

“What?”

“It’s done.” He eased his arms out, his stiff muscles protesting.

“Do mine!”

“Give me a minute. I need to untie my feet.” John’s fingers felt clumsy and his ankles were tightly bound.

“Do mine and then we can both do our own feet and Ronon’s.”

“Huh? What?”

“Hang on, Chewie. We’ll be out of here soon.” Ronon was still far from lucid. John hoped he could walk. In fact, he really needed to be able to climb and then run.

There was a scattering of rubble and muttered curses and something heavy landed on John’s legs.

“Sorry! Here. Untie me.”

John groped in the dark, found Rodney’s wrists and traced the knots with his fingers.

“Hurry. My hands are numb.”

“I’m doing my best.” John’s fingers fumbled with the tight knot. Then he froze.

“Hurry!”

“Shh. I heard something.”

“John?” 

John grinned. “Teyla!”

oOo

She had taken Garcha’s knife and his gun and crept out into the night, circling round through the ruins to come from the far side of the building where her friends were imprisoned. There had been two sentries, but both had fallen to a swift, silent cut to the throat. When she reached the black pit, Teyla considered returning for the lantern, before discarding the idea as too risky. She lowered herself over the side, groping for hand and footholds, and then it was a matter of crawling and patting until she encountered soft clothing and then carefully cutting her team’s bonds.

She was disturbed to find Ronon so confused, but once he’d been encouraged to sit up and awaken the circulation in his arms and legs he seemed to understand the situation well enough.

“Climb, then run,” he repeated.

“Quietly!” she emphasised.

“I can do quiet,” he said. “Where are we again? Are there Wraith?”

“Not yet,” she said.

“Come on, Buddy, let’s go.”

“Easier said than done,” said Rodney. “I can’t see a thing.”

“Feel for handholds, Rodney. The surface is very rough.” Teyla climbed back up the wall and reached down to encourage first Rodney and then Ronon, who climbed up swiftly then staggered and sat down. John came up last.

“Sentries?” he asked.

“Two. Dead.”

“Good job, Teyla. Let’s get out of here.”

“Wait!” Rodney’s eyes caught a flash of light from the square. “I need that Ancient device. I’m not going home with nothing.”

“McKay!” John’s whisper was exasperated. “We’ve got outlaws and soon we’ll have Wraith. Is this thing really worth it?”

“Yes. I think so. Probably.”

“We’re risking our lives here, Rodney. You’d better be sure.”

“I am. I need it.”

“Okay.” John sighed. “A diversion.”

“I have Garcha’s firearm,” said Teyla.

“Well, that’s a point to us.”

“You could run into the jungle and fire it,” suggested Rodney.

“No,” said John, decisively. “No, that wouldn’t be enough. We need to draw them all away, make them scatter. And I know how to do it. Gimme the knife, Teyla.”

oOo

Rodney crouched in the darkness. Something tickled his shoulder and he jumped and batted at it with his hands.

“S’up, McKay?”

“Nothing. Just raindrops that might be giant venomous spiders or snakes or, God what the hell are we doing here?”

“I dunno. We on the run?”

“No. Yes. We’re waiting for a signal.” Rodney groped on the ground in front of him; heavy rock, check, half of Sheppard’s belt, check.

“My head hurts.”

“Come on, Sheppard,” murmured Rodney. He crawled forward on his hands and knees, through the thick undergrowth of dripping vegetation that bordered the trail. Moonlight fell on the narrow line that carved through the dense jungle, but nothing stirred either toward the ruins or the Gate. He waited. “Percussion caps in his belt,” he muttered. “What next? Rockets up his -”

Gunfire rang out in the night. Rodney scrambled back into the bushes. He picked up his rock and counted slowly to ten, then flung it hard at the belt. A scatter of loud cracks split the air.

Ronon leapt to his feet and flattened himself against a tree trunk. “Who’s shooting?”

Rodney picked up the rock and smashed it down on the belt again, releasing another spatter of shots into the night.

“No-one, yet. Come on, time to run. This way!”

He pulled Ronon out onto the trail, pointed him in the right direction and then chased his heels up the winding trail toward the Gate, grateful that running was one thing Ronon’s body knew, without his mind having to think about it too much. Rodney’s boots pounded the soft ground and soon his lungs were straining, his breath heaving. Then echoing pops came from somewhere behind.

“Teyla,” he gasped. Diversions managed, now it was up to John. Rodney hoped the outlaws had scattered into the forest, but there were bound to be some guarding the camp. Had he been foolish, insisting on the Ancient artifact’s retrieval? Had he put his team at risk for no good reason? No, Rodney reassured himself. No. It was important; and as his legs pumped up and down, his mind pumped with ideas, sifting and interpreting the text he had seen and absorbed from that tiny display screen.

oOo

Garcha’s unfamiliar weapon had provided a satisfying, booming report, which had sent animals screeching into the high eaves of the forest. Before the sound faded, John had moved, in a curving arc, fighting his way through the vegetation, getting as far away as he could from his previous position, while remaining close to the Ancient complex. He heard shouts and caught the glimmer of torches from the ruins, then in the distance came a scattered series of cracks, like pistol-fire: Rodney.

He pushed through tangled bushes and vines, wet leaves slapping him in the face, until he stood at the edge of the treeline, flat against a trunk, face smeared with forest loam to blend into the darkness. Another series of cracks came and John wasted no more time. He slipped into the ruins, clinging close to the walls, the weapon gripped firmly in both hands. How many had run into the forest? How many still guarded the camp? He moved as fast as he could. The outlaws chasing down phantoms wouldn’t be gone for long.

The square was dimly lit by the orange glow of the campfire, spreading from the threshold of the main habitation. A shadow shifted, close to a wall. John holstered the gun and took out the knife. His heart told him to hurry, hurry, but he forced himself to move slowly, silently, to wait until the shadow moved away. Then he struck, his hand over the man’s mouth, his knife plunging into his throat. He lowered the body to the ground. Shouts sounded in the distance. He should run, now, get away before they returned. But instead he moved toward the firelight, flattened against the damp stonework, the gun in his hand once more. Time for action.

“Don’t move!” John spun around the threshold. An old man crouched over the fire and another lay slouched against the left wall. Both startled and then froze. “Don’t move,” John said again. His eyes flicked to the remains of their kit, the contents of their packs a jumbled heap. He edged toward the pile, his intent gaze darting between the two outlaws. The others’d be back soon. He had to go. The Ancient device was there. He crouched, snatched it up together with another couple of essentials and stuffed them in his shirt, then grabbed Ronon's blaster and stuck it in the empty holster. Cries sounded outside, distant but coming closer; they were coming. John sidled toward the entrance, stepped backward, still with his weapon raised. Then he turned and ran. 

Immediately there were shouts of alarm from the two men, then more from amongst the ruins. Gunfire rang out and John dodged and wove, chips of stone flying from the paving that blurred beneath him and from the walls to either side. As he dodged down a side passage he felt a blow to his back and upper arm, but he kept running, zig-zagging left and right through the maze of tumbled stone, skidding as he turned, ricocheting off walls. He ran and the ruins echoed with pounding feet and angry shouts and behind him torches and flashlights lit the ways as if the Ancients had returned to their dwellings.

The path rose and the jungle was above him. John somehow found an extra burst of speed, his breath sobbing in his burning lungs as he forced his muscles to work against the gradient. He reached the trees and plunged off the path and further up into the dense undergrowth, pushing through the tangled thicket at the edge of the forest and into the darkness, then faster beneath the great, ancient trees.

“John! This way!”

“Teyla!” He ran toward her and then alongside as she led him up a ravine, weaving between the trunks, scrambling over a fallen, rotting hulk. John’s foot went through into the decayed centre and he fell.

Teyla stopped, grasped his hand and pulled. “Hurry, John! Hurry! They are coming!”

“I… I know!” Gasping for breath, he gestured with a thumb over his shoulder. “All of ‘em… I think.”

“No, John. The Wraith! The Wraith are coming!”

oOo

Teyla had waited, even though John had told her to run for the Gate as soon as she had set off her explosive caps. She was unarmed and alone, but she could not leave him behind. And, waiting, her eyes and her heart straining back toward the ruins, desperate for the sound of her teamleader’s approach, she had felt her skin begin to crawl, the hairs on the back of her neck rise and a sick feeling grow deep inside her; a feeling she recognised all too well. The Wraith were coming.

And as she and John plunged through the jungle, the distinctive whine of a dart grew and flickering through the trees came the silvery spear of a culling beam. Cries of horror sounded from behind and to their left as the beam swept the forest path clear.

“Teyla. Wait up!”

She stopped. John leaned against a tree trunk, bent over, flecks of moonlight glancing off his sweat-soaked hair.

“Are you well, John?”

“Yeah, fine.” He wiped sweat out of his eyes. “Just needed a breather.”

Shouts once more echoed through the trees with the snapping of branches and undergrowth.

“The outlaws. Come, John.”

“Crap, why don’t they just give up already?” John pushed himself off the tree, and they resumed their flight. 

The forest floor was cut across by dips and ridges and their progress slowed. With the sounds of pursuit close behind them Teyla knew they'd soon have to turn and make a stand. And then a huge black shape loomed in their path.

“Good cover,” gasped John, approaching the rock. “I’ll hold ‘em off here, you get to the Gate.”

“No, John! We will both deter the outlaws. I will not leave you.”

He gave a glimmer of a smile. “I don’t know why I bother giving orders sometimes. C’mon, let’s climb up.”

oOo

John gritted his teeth as he scrambled up onto the rock. He’d known, when he felt the dull impact that one of the outlaw’s bullets had found its mark, skidding across his shoulder blade and burying itself in his upper arm; or maybe it had gone all the way through, he wasn't sure. He’d known, but hadn’t fully felt the pain, and he wouldn’t until the danger was over and the adrenaline drained from his body. Nevertheless, he knew he was losing blood and he had nothing to bind the injury with. A strip of his t-shirt would do, but the outlaws were coming.

“Wait,” he murmured. They were there, scattered blue shadows moving amongst the trees, with sounds of more further behind. Teyla had Ronon’s blaster and John had Garcha’s weapon, held steady in his left hand. “Now,” he said firmly.

They fired and the outlaws scattered, hid themselves behind the trees and began to return fire. This, at least, would give Rodney and Ronon more time. The unfamiliar weapon roared and its recoil threw his arm back, jerking his body; the pain was beginning to ratchet up and John couldn’t suppress his sharp, wincing gasps every time he fired. Ronon’s blaster flamed red in the darkness and an outlaw’s cover was blown away, leaving the smoke and scent of burning wood drifting in the air. Then, the flashes of weapons fire were joined by an approaching flare of brightness and the whine of a dart as the culling beam swept toward them.

“Time to go!”

They skidded and slid to the ground and ran once more into the night.

oOo

“Come on, you great lump, move!”

“Tired.”

“You can be tired later. Ronon! Wraith!”

This seemed to revive his flagging companion and they staggered forward once more, Ronon leaning heavily on Rodney’s shoulder. They had heard the darts and dived off the path into the jungle and made it a good way toward the Gate, but then Ronon had suddenly drooped and now it was all Rodney could do to keep him moving forward.

“Nearly there,” he said. “Not far now.”

Ronon groaned, but that was better than nothing.

Rodney pushed his way through the dripping leaves, trying not to let any branches slap Ronon in the face. He swept aside a hanging fall of creepers and suddenly there were huge eyes looking into his, and a wide mouth, full of sharp teeth, opened and shrieked in his face. Rodney shrieked back, then shrieked again as something splatted onto his cheek.

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/190544196@N08/50444096147/in/dateposted-public/)

“Whassup?” mumbled Ronon, then grunted as an object smacked into his chest.

“Run!”

Wild shrieks and hoots erupted from all around as Rodney dragged Ronon forward. Blows fell on his back and in his hair, hitting him with soft, wet, juicy splats and moisture dripped down his face and soaked into his clothes. 

Then they burst out into the open. They were back on the path and there was no sign of Wraith or human in either direction. Hustling Ronon forward, Rodney decided to risk the path for a while and the shrieking, hooting cacophony faded behind them as they climbed.

“Must be nearly there!” he panted.

And they were, but Rodney’s heart sank even as he pulled Ronon back into the shadowy forest and pushed him behind a broad trunk. He peered out between the branches at the silver light that rippled across the Gate clearing. The Gate was active and before it stood two Wraith drones.

“Crap,” said Rodney.

oOo

The night creatures had pelted them with mapla fruit. Teyla felt the juice running down her face and, in the now bright moonlight she thought John had been particularly thoroughly coated. She could see the juice dripping from his fingertips.

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/190544196@N08/50443222823/in/dateposted-public/)

They were no longer pursued. Either the dart had taken all of the outlaws or they had run back toward the ruins; which would not have been a good choice. The whine and zip of strafing sweeps could be heard in the direction of the Ancient settlement and Teyla hoped that the Wraith would be occupied there until she and her team had made their escape. But although she had known that the Gate was very likely to be active, it was still a harsh blow to see the shimmering event horizon as they approached the clearing.

“Sheppard! Teyla!”

She followed the sound of Rodney’s voice, plunging in once more amongst the moss-covered trunks and sagging creepers. Ronon, slumping on the ground, waved vaguely at her, but Rodney’s anxious face was intent on his leader.

“Did you get it?”

For a moment, Teyla didn’t remember the artifact. Then John drew it from his shirt and held it out. With his left hand, she noted, and, now that she thought about it, he’d fired his weapon left-handed.

“John -”

“Yes!” Rodney sounded triumphant and a flurry of finger snapping followed his exclamation. “Yes, yes, yes!” he continued, tapping at the device’s keypad, his face lit by the glow from the screen.

“I hope that means it’s useful.” John, leaning against the tree, prodded Ronon’s shoulder and received an acknowledging grunt.

“Yes, it most certainly is,” grinned Rodney. “It’s a Gate disruptor.”

“‘S what I said,” muttered Ronon.

“Disruptor?”

“All I need to do is slap this on the DHD, set the controls and it’ll cut off the incoming wormhole.”

“Toldja so.”

“Cool,” said John, wearily. “Good thing I got these too, then.” He drew out the radio set and IDC and passed them to Rodney.

Teyla put a hand on his arm. “John -”

“You’ll need another diversion. Teyla, stay with Ronon, help him to the Gate when McKay’s done his stuff.”

“John, you are hurt!”

“I’m fine. It’s just a scratch. You ready, McKay?”

Rodney nodded. “Yes!”

oOo

Rodney hovered at the treeline, the device clutched in both hands, his mind already inputting the settings that would cut off the Wraith’s wormhole.

“Come on, Sheppard!” he muttered.

He was rewarded by a burst of gunfire from the far side of the clearing. One of the sentry drones moved toward the sound, stunner raised, and was hit in the chest, but, totally undeterred, continued to stride toward the forest.

“Go! Go!” Rodney urged the other drone, through gritted teeth.

John’s storm of firing continued and, at last the other drone left the Gate and followed his partner. If they turned they would see him. All they had to do was catch a flicker of his movement and they’d swing round and stun him.

Rodney ran. He bent, low to the ground, as if that would do any good, and was tempted to shut his eyes. There was no blue flash, no tingle and fizz of outraged nerve-endings. He made it and hunkered down in the shadow of the DHD, feeling marginally safer.

The firing continued, but further away. John was trying to lead them into the forest, giving Rodney a clear run. Not too successfully, though, he hoped. He slapped the device on the underside of the DHD, knelt beneath it and tapped away at the keys in response to the flash of characters across the display. Just a few more… There! The event horizon sputtered and failed and Rodney leapt up and began slapping the symbols for Atlantis. He smacked his hand down on the central key, and, hearing a rustle of movement behind him spun around.

“McKay! Whatcha doin’?” Ronon, draped over Teyla’s shoulder, grinned casually.

“Saving our asses, as usual,” replied Rodney. The event horizon cascaded out into the clearing and then snapped back and settled. He tapped in his IDC code, glaring anxiously at the forest, where the zip of Wraith stunners had suddenly increased. “Come on, Sheppard!” Then John came pelting out of the jungle, stumbled, got to his feet and hurled himself toward them, blue flashes snapping at his heels. “Atlantis, this is McKay. We’re coming in hot!”

“Go!” John yelled.

“Take Ronon through,” Rodney said, snatching Ronon’s weapon from Teyla’s belt. Fiery blasts shot out as he fired over John’s head at the drones. Ronon lunged toward the Wraith, but Teyla steered him up the steps and they disappeared into the pool of light. 

“Sheppard! Come on!” Rodney yelled, firing at the drones and in the air, and he didn’t care where as long as John would just run faster. Why was he going so slowly? 

At last John reached the stone steps, but he staggered and tripped and a blue flash skimmed above his back, Rodney fired and hit the Wraith’s stunner which blew up in a shower of sparks. John wasn’t getting up. What was wrong with him? 

The back of his neck was purple with mapla juice, but his right arm and hand were red.

“Sheppard!” Rodney reached down and grabbed John’s shirt and pulled.

oOo

Teyla, staggering under Ronon’s weight, stepped out of the whirling confusion of the wormhole into the Gateroom. The alarm was blaring and the security detail were grim in their defensive formation.

“Good heavens!” said Carson. “You’re purple!”

The med team rushed forward and helped Ronon on to the waiting gurney.

Elizabeth looked anxiously over the railing of the control level. “Teyla! Where’re John and Rodney?”

Teyla shook her head helplessly and clenched her fists. The pool of light rippled gently, serenely unconcerned with Teyla’s pounding heart and the panicked cry she felt rising in her chest.

Then a dark shoulder appeared, a purple-stained arm, juice-matted hair and slowly Rodney emerged, along with his desperate little grunts of effort as he hauled John out of the event horizon and into the safety of Atlantis.

“Raise the shield!”

Golden haze covered the Gate, there was a fizzing impact, then another and then silence. The wormhole collapsed, the alarm stopped and the Gateroom fell silent.

oOo

Rodney stared down at John, both of his hands still fisted in his friend’s shirt. Streaks of purple juice and black earth covered skin that shouldn’t be that grey-white colour but the dragging streaks on the Gateroom floor were red.

“Carson! Man down!” The med team were already surrounding John, but still Rodney’s hands wouldn’t let go of his shirt. Then the running and risking and shooting crowded into Rodney’s head and the floor seemed like the place to be. He sank down beside John and put his head on his bent knees and if his hands and arms and, in fact, all of him, wanted to shake from reaction, then he was quite happy to let them. He allowed himself to disappear into a haze and decided he wouldn’t come out until he felt warmer and all the fussing voices had gone away.

oOo

A low, threatening rumble awoke tension in John's body and his conscious mind followed, reluctantly dragged out of its comfortable darkness. The rumble increased to a growl and he shot bolt upright, his hand flying to his sidearm and a jagged bolt of pain lancing across his back and arm. He swore at the pain and swore again at the bright, daytime light of the infirmary.

"There, you've woken the Colonel, now!"

"You should've just left it!"

"You're purple, Ronon."

"Don't care."

"What the hell's going on?" John cleared his gravelly throat and gripped his right elbow with his left hand.

Carson put down a bottle of clear liquid and threw a wad of purple gauze into a brimming dish.

"I've found a solvent for the mapla stains," he said, helping John to ease himself back onto the pillows. "But the big tough Specialist, there, thinks it's too cold. It's just the ether evaporating quickly."

"It is too cold!" Ronon snarled.

"Give it a rest, Chewie, it can't be that bad." John opened his gritty eyes to glance down at his own skin and swiftly closed them again. "You can get it off?"

"Yes, don't worry. You'll soon be back to normal."

"Oh, look, it's the monster from the purple lagoon."

"Rodney, do not tease John."

"I was thinking the Phantom," said John, opening his eyes to see Teyla and Rodney approaching his bed, their skin-tone normal, but for a variety of band-aids and dressings..

"No. No superhero vibe for you, Sheppard, despite your propensity for superhuman feats of endurance when you've actually been shot!"

"Tone it down, Rodney," said Carson, handing John some pills to swallow. "I don't think the Colonel's quite up to your, er, exuberance."

"No, that's because he's been shot! That's the kind of information you're supposed to share, Sheppard. With your team!"

"What could you have done, McKay? We didn't exactly have the time or the kit for first aid."

"You should have allowed me to divert the drones, John," said Teyla.

"What she said!" Rodney's finger vibrated at Teyla. "You could have died! There was blood everywhere!"

"And juice," said Ronon. 

"Nah, I knew I wasn't gonna die. Anyways, blood squirts if it's real bad," John said, comfortably, feeling the pain begin to diminish.

"Yeah," agreed Ronon.

"Ew, that's just gross."

"Right, that's enough." Carson shooed Rodney toward the door with flapping hands. "The Colonel needs to rest while I return him to his normal hue."

"What about the bits under the bandages?" asked Rodney.

"They can stay purple."

"What about Ronon?"

"He can stay purple too."

"Cool," said Ronon.

"What about lecturing Sheppard on basic first aid?"

"All in good time, Rodney."

Teyla lowered her head to touch, forehead to forehead with John, as she always did to reassure both herself and him that all was well.

He closed his eyes once more and murmured, "We didn't find a ZPM."

"No, John, we did not."

"Try again tomorrow."

"Perhaps not tomorrow."

"Next day, then."

Teyla's gentle laugh retreated and John relaxed.

"Right, let's get you cleaned up!"

A shocking patch of cold seared his arm.

"Crap, Carson, what the hell?"

"Told you," said Ronon.

End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed that and spotted all of the prompts! Please kudos and comment!

**Author's Note:**

> Bingo prompts:  
> “We’re coming in hot!”, Rodney eats a power bar, Teyla glares at a member of her team, Unscheduled off-world activation, Fed on by a Wraith, Ronon growls, John says ‘I’m fine’ when he’s not, Carson says, ‘Oh, good heavens!’, An attack, Rodney pushes someone out of the way, An Ancient artifact lights up, Rodney is brave, Ronon shoots something he shouldn’t, Teyla senses Wraith, John smirks inappropriately, MREs, Mess Hall scene, Rodney snaps his fingers, John is self-sacrificing, Infirmary scene, Somebody underestimates Teyla, Rodney scans for energy readings, “Get to the Gate!”, A chase.
> 
> Art prompts:  
> An alien planet, from space or landscape; close-up of a body part; fauna - a strange creature; flora - an exotic plant; a minor character.


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